Before the Rise
by Sebe
Summary: A series of stand alone drabbles I wanted to get out before the new season starts. A mix of everything; humor, angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Will contain pack feels, bromance of Soctt and Stiles, sterek, and pre-sterek. Any chapter specific warning will be in the notes.
1. Trivia

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: Derek quizzes Stiles while the teen bleeds out in his car. Pack feels.

**01 (Trivia)**

"Scott was literally the kid that ate glue in kindergarten," Stiles takes a breath, closes his eyes. His lips twist in a wry grin. "…until second grade."

He doesn't turn his head, but he can see Derek's hands gripping the wheel tightly, his arms tense. Ah, well, he's used to being the cause of the alpha's annoyance. And they know each other well enough at this point that he can hear the question bouncing around in Derek's head that he won't ask because this whole line of information is just too stupid. Stiles shrugs, explains anyway.

"Thought you should know. You can taunt him." Because though Scott and Derek had come to an understanding, a working relationship and respect that bordered on friendship now and again, they could still be fairly caustic toward one another. Stiles wondered if he was unfair, giving Derek this ammo.

But Derek was the one closest proximity-wise at the moment. Scott was somewhere close behind. If not in Lydia's car, then just flat out running. It depended on how freaked out he was. Stiles couldn't really remember clearly…

"Keep talking." The sharp voice startles Stiles' eyes open. He didn't remember drifting off. He stares up at the roof of Derek's, somehow still immaculate, car. He speaks slowly, making sure he forms words clearly.

"Iceland's actually pretty green." He's just trying to annoy Derek further now, pokig the bear who seems already pretty agitated for a reason that escapes Stiles. He knows how the werewolf hates pointless knowledge. "Greenland's the one covered in ice."

Derek nods and Stiles finally glances over at him. The beta's actually pretending to listen. Oh, god…

"What year did Vikings land in North America?"

Stiles gasps awake again, lightheaded and gasping like he hadn't been breathing.

"Oh, god…" Stiles echoed his thoughts, rolling his head against the seat. Derek's eyes are off the road and on him so fast, Stiles is sure they're going to crash.

"What's wrong?" There's that even, in-control tone Derek loved to use in sticky situations. Stiles hated it. It was always forced, a lie. Almost painful to listen to.

"If you're asking me to share extraneous facts…" he trailed off, smile faltering just slightly before returning brighter than before. He didn't know how much Derek hated that. "I'm dying, right?"

"No." Derek's angry. Angry is easier than, well, whatever else he's feeling. His teeth are clenched, eyes back on the road. They're going faster now. Stiles wonders if Scott can keep up...

Stiles makes a pained noise when there's more pressure on his stomach, Derek having forced Stiles' arm back against his midsection with a tight grip.

"Press down." He growls. He's driving one-handed now, seeming intent on not removing his other hand from Stiles' forearm. It hurts, but it's not as much as before. And Stiles isn't stupid. He knows that's a bad sign.

The blood on his clothes, against his arm, is warm, new. Too much to even start clotting.

Stiles licks his lips and notices the shaking. He's not sure if it's him, or Derek, or both.

"…About…a thousand years before, before…" And he can't remember if it was before Columbus or before the present. "It's debatable," He settles.

"What else?"

Stiles is suddenly so tired. He can't bring to mind any trivia he knows. It's too cold to think.

He reaches out blindly, pawing for the AC control. Derek grabs his wrist, stops him. Wouldn't have mattered anyway, Stiles can see it's turned off already.

"Stop. What else. What else, Stiles." They've stopped being questions and evolved into commands.

Stiles blinks and breathes.

"Dunno…I can't-…dunno…" Stiles's hands twitch, fingers curling and straightening just so Stiles can feel like he's still controlling them. Derek grabs his hand, stilling him.

The wolf doesn't ask anything else, doesn't say anything for a few moments. Then, softer,

"Just try." Stiles isn't sure he's talking about trivia anymore. It's the roughness in his voice that gives it away. "Just try, Stiles."

Stiles breathes. He thinks he can feel the pack still behind them. Something drips over his lower lip and Stiles smells blood before he tastes it.

"…Yeah."


	2. Old Games, New Tricks

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: unstable Stiles hurting himself.

Summary: Derek and Scott are out looking for Stiles after the nogitsune reveals itself. They find him in his house, unsure if it's him or not. Derek almost wishes it wasn't.

**02 (Old Games, New Tricks)**

The whole pack and their parents are out looking for Stiles, for the thing wearing his face and body. Scott and Derek are the ones that catch his scent as they head toward the house. They rush in, not knowing if it's Stiles or the thing inside him that they'll find. Scott opens the door cautiously.

"Stiles?"

He doesn't move. _'Stiles moves. This thing doesn't move'_, Derek thinks frantically, on edge. The wolves smell blood. Stiles is cross legged on the ground, back turned to them.

Scott lets out a breath like he'd been punched in the gut. Derek hears the alpha halt a whine of pain before it escapes. Scott walks calmly, steadily forward. Derek reaches out to grab his arm.

"We don't know-"

"It's him." Scott sounds relieved and afraid and _tired_. It's enough of a confusion for Derek to let go and watch whatever is to unfold.

"Stiles." He's crouched down next to Stiles, waits a moment and his mouth twists unhappily. He looks to Derek quickly and nods toward the closet just outside the door. Confused, Derek opens it to find towels. Not even knowing if that's what he's looking for, he takes it anyway, instincts screaming at him louder than usual, reacting to the level of distress he feels in the alpha. He can't feel anything from Stiles.

Derek throws it to Scott. It must be what he wants because he catches it gratefully and keeps talking to the other boy. He still hasn't touched him though.

"Hey. Hey, man, it's me..." His voice is as soft as Derek has ever heard it. It's a tone of fear, watching something you love more than life slip through your fingers. "Here-" Scott reaches out cautiously and slowly grasps Stiles right hand. Slowly, he uncurls Stiles' fingers and Derek sees silver hit the carpet.

Heart rate spiking, Derek steps over enough that he can actually see Stiles' hands. Alarm, dread, panic, floods him. He holds as still as he can, calls to Scott. This thing could kill Scott. Silver and sharp and sliced open-

This thing was killing Stiles.

"Scott. It's not him. Get away from-"

Scott shoots him a look that could tear him apart if applied physically and he stops talking, but makes a distressed sound still because this is not Stiles.

"It's him." Scott tells Derek as he, just as slowly as before, takes Stiles' left wrist in his hand, wraps his forearm in the towel and presses as hard as he can without hurting more. Not that it would matter.

Scott knew Stiles didn't feel much when he was like this.

"You're you." He tells Stiles. "I've got you. Stiles? Hey." He rests Stiles' bundled arm across his own lap and uses his free hand to touch the side of Stiles face, urging him to look in Scott's direction. "Here. Hey, here, Stiles. It's okay."

In stunned silence through it all, Derek slowly realizes Scott knows what he's doing. It's practiced. They've done this before. Stiles has done this before.

It breaks something in Derek he didn't think could be broken anymore.

Stiles' eyes begin focusing a little more, mouth parting, maybe trying for words, but only managing sounds. It seems enough for Scott. He smiles.

"Hey. There you are." Stiles stares at him, but at least not through him. He starts turning his head to look around but Scott catches him again, diverts his attention. "Think you can stand up?"

Stiles blinks slowly, but the lost look in his eyes abates a little at Scott's encouraging smile and he nods.

"Kay. Come on." He loops Stiles injured arm over his shoulders, wrapping the other around his waist. Derek moves and ducks under his other arm, grabs his bloodied hand. Scott's eyes are wide in fury for the fraction of a second it takes for Stiles to listlessly acknowledge that Derek's in here with them. He only leans on them and a seemingly shocked Scott relaxes.

"Bed." He tells Derek. They manuver him carefully over. Stiles drifts off quickly. Not sleep, just pure exhaustion, but it's better than nothing.

Scott checks his arm and when the bleeding is slow enough, he takes the towel away to start cleaning and bandaging it. Derek feels as dazed as Stiles had looked. He needs to do something, but this is a scene that's played itself out at least once before and he doesn't know his part in it. He goes to where the boys had been kneeling, picks up the blade, throws towels over the blood pooled there, but he's still lost.

"...He's never reacted like that." Scott tells him, still bandaging Stiles up. "When he...I'm the only one he doesn't freak out over touching him. With his dad once...yeah, that was bad. That was a bad day."

"He's done this before." Not a question.

"Hasn't been this bad for awhile. It was already there when we met. The way kids would do it anyway, I guess." Scott shrugs, never taking his eyes off Stiles. "He was always cut up and bruised. Fell off of things just because he could. Then he'd get up and smile and be fine again. It um...It got really...when his mom died. But not for years like this." Scott's motions slow, his eyes linger on Stiles' pale face. "Never like this..."

He's scared.

He's so scared.

Derek is too.


	3. Follow

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: The symptoms weren't all the nogitsune's doing.

**03 (Follow)**

Derek finds him relatively easily. The faraway look in his eyes strikes at Derek's heart, solidifies his fear, but he's not surprised. Shattered, but not surprised. He knew it hadn't gone away, hadn't all been an illusion like they'd hoped.

Waking him never goes well so Derek follows, pulling away branches that would scrape and kicking aside debris that would make him stumble. Eventually, Stiles stops. He blinks slow, eyes drifting over scenery slowly. Derek stands in front of him. Waits.

"You remember how you got here?"

Slow, confused shaking of his head. He's gradually more aware and raises a hand to his aching head, brow furrowing in pain and frustration.

"Wha-...where-"

"A couple miles from the north field."

Stiles nods. Takes a moment and sighs. He looks up at Derek.

"Ready?"

Stiles nods again and Derek circles around him, Stiles following now. Derek shrugs off his jacket and hands it to the pajama clad human who pulls it on with a soft, 'thanks'.

"Your place."

Derek nods and they keep walking. Derek keeps him from falling twice.

When they're back to the loft, when he's curled tight into the blankets because he can't get warm and Derek's on the floor, leaning against the bed, he asks.

"You can tell, can't you?" It's not really a question and Stiles doesn't have to turn around to know Derek nods. "...Does Scott know?"

"No. He's a bitten wolf. Even as an alpha...it's not obvious."

"So Peter would know?"

"Only if he knew what he was looking for."

Stiles nods and they go quiet awhile.

"...I wish my dad didn't know." He mumbles quietly. Louder, "I don't want Scott to know yet."

"I won't say anything. But I think you should tell him."

"I won't be...bad, really, for awhile. I don't want it on him sooner than it has to be."

"So what, wait until he finds you wandering the woods?" There 's a bitter edge to Derek's tone. "Until he has to worry about you forgetting him every time he leaves?"

Stiles does turn over then, but Derek won't look at him.

"...I won't-" he doesn't want to lie. "I don't want to forget you."

He doesn't say anymore. He can't without breaking and he doesn't want to cry yet. Derek reaches up, fingers brushing Stiles' wrist. Slow and deliberate, Stiles twines his fingers with Derek's.

The wolf grips back tighter.


	4. Names

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none.

Summary: The pack humans have their own unique reputations after all their battles; nick names. Stiles isn't thriled about his. Mostly a badass pack, feel good drabble.

**04 (Names)**

Stiles wasn't any kind of oblivious. He knew the teasing jokes always just around the corner (from a grinning Peter specifically) and took great pains to avoid them. Anytime a wayward hunter looking to make a name for himself came into town, it was always Stiles they singled out. Same with rival packs or feral omegas.

He didn't get it! Allison, Lydia, and Danny were all just as human as he was, dammit! (Well, maybe not so much wth Lydia, but she looked the part!) But none of them ever got it.

Allison was always _'the hunter'_ or _'the archer_'.

Lydia was always whispered around cautiously (cause no one really wanted to mess with Lydia) as _'the immune'_.

Danny was the only one who may have come under the same heading, but, while both of them tended to do the majority of the pack research, Danny was decidedly more home-based, rarely coming out into battles.

Stiles…well, he'd always run head first into everything that screamed 'danger' anyway, even before the werewolves. So it was always, inevitably, him.

'_The boy who runs with wolves'_, the most recent, doomed bad guy would sneer; which, invariably led to taunts of _'Little Red'_.

"Dammit!" Stiles groaned as the omegas blood splattered across his front as Boyd severed the feral wolf's head. Stiles swore they did this on purpose. "Seriously?" He looked at Boyd dejectedly, exasperated. The other teen had some genuine remorse about him, but the sneaking grin took all the validity out of it.

"Sorry, man."

Stiles grunted at him in displeasure, already knowing tonight was a loss. It was an off white hoodie this time. Crap. He'd tried every color, but nothing hid it, dark or light, and somehow, Stiles always ended up covered in something's blood. He'd thought about just prowling about in t shirts, but he liked hoodies, dammit! He'd already sacrificed his favorite red one to try and avoid the comparisons, but it was inevitable.

"Shut. Up." Stiles told them all before even turning around. "Not tonight. I will maim all of you, I swear."

There was chuckling and all the sly grins ever, but they seemed to be willing to let it go tonight.

On the walk back to their cars, Peter started humming and the others couldn't keep the smiles off their lips. Scott chuckled. Stiles stalked off ahead of them into the night as strains of off-tune creeper uncle singing echoed.

"_Hey there, little red riding hood, you sure are looking good."_

God he hated his family of morons. He was already plotting his revenge.


	5. Ours

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none, really. Bit of dark human pack members.

Summary: The pack humans are the dangerous ones.

Original trifecta of Badass Lydia, Allison, and Stiles.

**05 (Ours)**

Derek always knew Stiles was a little...unhinged. That he had that potential for darkness inside him, just like Derek did. They'd both just managed to bend and twist it enough that it was an asset instead of a danger.

To the pack, anyway.

There was some degree of darkness in everyone, really. But Stiles…

There was that darkness and the power to back it up.

It was something mirrored in the two girls. It just wasn't as sharp in them. As unfailingly lethal.

And the human pack was pissed.

Lydia and Allison to his sides, Stiles stood just barely in the foreground , between the threat and their injured pack.

One signal from Stiles and the girls were off, darting to each side around the hunters.

Stiles didn't say anything. Not one word. He was barely even focusing on Derek and the others as they pulled back from the fray to safety. He was fixated and Derek felt it down to his bones.

Stiles was behind a man that had just shot his pack with wolfsbane buletts and Derek honestly didn't know how. A side glance at Scott and the rest of the wolves showed the same stunned confusion on their faces. Stiles leaned in next to the hunter's ear and spoke for the first time that night. His voice was eerie, chilling.

The wolves watched him closely, but not fearfully, awestruck.

The girls just smiled.

Stiles grinned, a harsh thing of teeth and cold rage.

"You can't have them. They're _ours_."


	6. Lock Up

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: The Sheriff deals as well as he can with werewolves in his town and the fact that one of them is dating his son.

**07 (Lock Up)**

The Sheriff may know about werewolves, the turmoil of their lives, the battles they fight, most of the time to protect the town, to protect innocents. He may know that most of them are still typical teenagers that will make typical mistakes and give him the same headaches he's had with his own kid since he hit thirteen.

But that does not mean he won't occasionally lock one of them up when they piss him off.

Of course, they could break out, but they don't. Nothing's on the record. Really, cooling off in the station's cells is just the upgraded, werewolf version of teenage groundings and childhood time-outs.

He only throws them in here when they're having human issues, fights, vandalism not related to supernatural forces, things like that, nothing werewolf related. They're young after all, and their emotions run high. He's put them all in their place once or twice. But, aside from that disasterous first time when he was still clueless and two stupid kids were making murder accusations, he's never had Derek Hale on the other side of the bars.

"Hey," the Sheriff barks at Derek and Jackson when he catches them glaring at each other from across the cell, "Knock it off already. You both need to cool down, got it? Someone more responsible will be here to get you two soon enough."

Derek looks away. Jackson huffs, but has the decency to look a bit embarrassed at the reprimand.

The Sheriff didn't know what caused them to go at one another like they had, but he didn't much care. He had just needed to stop them before real visible damage could be done and people started wondering about the 'whys' and 'hows' of how the two morons weren't really bleeding much.

The block's door opened and the Sheriff heard Derek growl low, resigned to the imminent frustration.

Stiles and Lydia came towards them. Lydia looked pissed and Jackson was slinking back into the cell. Stiles was grinning and the Sheriff knew that the immense amusement of his kid would be punishment enough for Hale in this situation.

"So who's here for who?" he asked, just to rub it in a bit.

Lydia glares at Jackson and the boy actually whimpers. Stiles speaks up.

"Oh, I think I'll take the broody, leather-clad puppy in the corner." He grins and Derek glares at him seethingly. Stiles shrugs. "Then again, he looks like he bites."

"Stiles-" growled through teeth.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for keeping them from getting shot or something. I think we've got it from here."

The Sheriff opens the door and Derek walks out. Jackson…takes some persuading.

"For the love of- she can't be that bad, Jackson." The Sheriff tells him. "You're a werewolf."

"Besides," Stiles adds helpfully, "Stalling will just piss her off more."

The former were-lizard is next to Lydia fairly quickly.

"It really wasn't my fau-"

"Oh no. You have no lines in this play." She's already grabbed his arm and is dragging him toward the door. "None."

The Sheriff almost feels bad for him. Almost. He turns to see Derek pointedly avoiding looking at a still grinning Stiles.

"So…you got thrown in the pound."

"I will end you." He tells Stiles with absolutely no heat. He knows he'll be hearing about this for awhile.

"Fine, fine." Stiles puts his hands up and then looks at his father, grumbling. "I knew he was the kind to bite. Dinner at eight?"

"Sounds good."

The Sheriff watches as the two walk away side by side. Derek leans a bit closer to Stiles and tells him in a low voice, "And you like it when I bite."

Derek grins and the Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose, wonders if you can line handcuffs with wolfs bane.


	7. Catch

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: none

Summary: Scott and Lydia watching out for Stiles after the nogitsune is gone.

**06 (Catch)**

"Chemistry?" Stiles' voice is hollow and distant to his own ears, but Lydia doesn't miss a beat.

"Yep." She tells him and keeps up their pace to their next class. "Easy stuff. Just a quiz on the periodic table today." It's easier with Lydia sometimes because she's like this. She doesn't coddle Stiles or edge her words around him, looking for land mines at every step. She was still Lydia. She was clipped and precise. She handled him with put upon sighs when he couldn't do something she knew he could. When the others shuffled around how to needle him into eating, Lydia threw apples and protein bars at him with a _'try and test me'_ crease to her brow. She challanged him and showed her frusstration and, at times, it was a very welcoming groove.

The pack all had their own ways of approaching and interacting with Stiles now. Some were overly cautious and gentle, some smiled too wide too often so Stiles' could see the strain in it, some avoided the issue all together. But they all tried. They all stayed. After everything, not one of the pack had written him off or abandoned him. It astounded him at times, really.

Stiles appreciated and loathed their different approaches to him in turn. It just depended on what horror show or level of detachment he was in at the time.

Stiles has every class with at least one of the pack. He doesn't remember that happening, but that's not really unusual.

Stiles loses time now. Mostly only minutes or hours. There are some days too, but they're more rare and usually only pass by at that length of time as some sort of waking haze. He can recall them, but has to constantly tell himself they really happened to him, even if it didn't feel like it.

Lydia is reciting the periodic table that neither of them need to rehearse anymore and haven't for years, when Stiles stops in the hall. Lydia turns quick enough that she may have been anticipating it. She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn't move just yet, watching him.

Stiles looks around and has the all too familiar experience of not knowing how he got here. By the time he's moved to press his back against the lockers on the wall, he's blanked on where 'here' even is. Lydia's in front of him and thre's no one else around. His heartbeat picks up and his throat catches. He goes absolutely still because is this real? Is this real? Or did the bell ring?

"Stiles? Stiles." Lydia's voice is soft and that's how Stiles knows this is a bad day. Lydia only reverts to that too gentle tone on bad days when Stiles literally cannot tolerate anything else or anything at all. She's close to him, working at maintaining eye contact even though his eyes are flitting everywhere restlessly. She's got her phone in hand, pushing a few buttons, still without looking.

_'SOS',_ Stiles manages to think through, remember. To the pack or at least parts of it depending on how bad she thought this break was because Stiles didn't know...didn't know...where were they? Why was Lydia there?

There's low murmuring and Stiles almost jolts as something touches him. But then two fingers are sliding across the underside of his left wrist, passing over the jut of bone. It's a touch Stiles knows that calms him even when he can't remember the name attached to the childhood signal.

"Hey, Stiles." Scott. "I've got you. We're gonna get you home. Can you try and walk for us?" Stiles nods numbly just because there's nothing he can think of that he wouldn't do or die trying to do for that familiar presence.

Scott turns him in the direction of the doors and gets them moving. He stays within inches of Stiles at his side, but doesn't touch until he needs to. Lydia's a step behind them with Stiles' bookbag and folders he didn't recall dropping.

Stiles falters and Scott shoulders up under him immediately, arm wrapped tight around his waist and murmuring, "I got ya. I got ya."

And he did.


	8. Off

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Summary: Derek sees Stiles before Void is revealed and just *knows*. He thinks Scott does too.

**10 (Off)**

Derek watches Stiles, leaning against the doorframe, slightly away from the rest of Scott's pack. He just observes the boy while Scott talks to the others because Stiles is quiet and something is wrong.

Derek noticed some of it right away. Nothing specific or profound, just hitches in the teen's behavior. Stiles wasn't as spastic as he was a few months ago when Derek had last seen him. His skin was paler, eyes seeming too big for some reason with dark circles beneath them.

As Derek was watching, Stiles' eyes drifted over to a far corner of the room, roving and focused. Like he saw something in the empty space, was tracking where there was nothing.

He was too still. Derek instantly recognized that behavior, forcing yourself not to react. Too scared of what will happen if you do. Stiles' jaw was set, his breaths shallow, eyes tired, but wide, smothering panic, fingers curling into his crossed arms.

Something was wrong.

"Stiles?" Derek heard Scott call and couldn't immediately place what was being conveyed in the tone. Something there between dread and worry; with that little tilt of hope the alpha always managed to infuse any situation with. That optomisim that made Scott who he was, made the pack strong and good and ready to follow whered he led.

Scott had grown quickly with new responsibilities and newer tragedies. The alpha protected his pack; threw himself into danger for them constantly. But, like Scott had told Derek once before, the only reason he could be there, do that for them, was because of Stiles. Scott protected the pack. Stiles protected Scott. He was the foundation under the wolves feet.

"Stiles?" The tremor in Scott's voice was like an aftershock. The earth had shaken. They pulled themselves up. They surveyed the damage fearfully. Quakes could crack foundations.

Stiles didn't seem to hear him and Derek saw Scott's eyes take on a sheen, the beginning of tears. "Stiles." The third time, Stiles blinked and looked over at his friend. He had a hazy half-there look in his eyes that disappeared when he shook his head and refocused on Scott.

"I'm awake." He told him. Like a kid caught sleeping in class. "I'm awake." He mumbled it again, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Scott. The strained, lie of a smile he tried to use to reassure Scott was a horrible thing to see.

God, something was _wrong_.


	9. Won't Run From You

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Stiles is around Kira and feels Void trying to take over to hurt her. He tries to get her and Scott away from him.

Summary: Stiles is terrified Void will hurt someone, will hurt Kira. But Scott's not leaving.

**09 (Won't Run From You)**

Stiles' breath seized in his chest. He didn't lurch forward, didn't panic, didn't give any outward sign anything was wrong.

Scott knew.

Scott's face fell as he turned from Kira to Stiles.

"Stiles?" he was reaching out toward his friend. "What's wrong? St-"

He stepped forward and Stiles stepped back so suddenly it had Scott's hands up in a placating gesture, like Stiles was a wild animal. Stiles supposed that wasn't far off.

"Get her away." He told, pleaded, at Scott. He could feel it. Something that wasn't him, but was; familiar and foreign, pacing the cage of his mind. "Ge-get Kira away from me."

Stiles needed Scott to run. He should have run a long time ago. As soon as he'd told him about the connection between himself and Barrow, the spaces of time he was missing. But Scott was...well, Scott. Loyal.

Stiles grit his teeth. This thing wasn't going to hurt them.

"Go!" Stiles' voice cracked, knees buckling, but he managed to stay standing.

Scott backed away, took Kira's arm and ushered her quickly out of the room with wide eyes. Their leaving sent of wave of relief through Stiles and broke something inside him all the same. Yes. He was dangerous. Kira and Scott had to get away. This thing inside him could- he could, he could-

Stiles keened, hands digging into his hair and pulling. _'Not them, not them, not him.' _Stiles sagged, utterly spent, but didn't hit the ground as hard as he'd expected.

"...iles. It's alright. Stiles. C'mon, man. I got you."

Scott had his arms firmly in his grasp, lowering him more gently to the floor.

"Told you to run." Was that his voice? He sounded weak, exhausted.

Scott gave him this certain kind of concerned smirk and all Stiles could think was,_ 'I taught you that'._

"You told me to get Kira away." He shrugged, smartass. "I did. She's away." Stiles tried to laugh, but it was more of a hysterical sob. Scott bit his lip, trying to catch Stiles' eyes. "Stiles."

"It's- She can't-" He shook his head and pressed further away from Scott and into the wall. The anger, the presence in his mind at the perceived threat of another kitsune was receding, but he still felt, still knew.

He was losing his mind. He had to make Scott see. He grabbed at Scott's arm, surprising his friend at the force. He stared into eyes that should be alpha red at the danger, but weren't. "It doesn't like her."

"She's not here. Just me."

"No-" _'Get away. I could hurt you. You're an alpha and you should be stronger, but I know- I know I could hurt you and what the hell am I?'_

"It's just us." Scott moved closer, prying Stiles' fingers away from his arm. Stiles watched the faint bruises fade almost instantly. The ones on his own arms, from his own fingers, didn't. Stiles could only be grateful.

_'It can be hurt. It can die. I can protect them-' _Scott's hand grasped the back of his neck, reassuring, trying to ground.

"Just us. Just like always."

Stiles geared up to fight in his own mind. Fight this thing back because he always would for Scott, but the presence was receding, no longer interested in taking over for now. Stiles was tired. He was so tired and he lurched forward, forehead to Scott's shoulder, wrists still clenched in Scott's hands at their side. He cried. He sobbed and he screamed. Like he hadn't since this began in his father's arms, since his mother's last breaths.

"Wh-what's-" _'What's happening to me?'_ he meant to say, but couldn't get the air to.

"You're you." Scott told him, like it was all that mattered. Stiles vaguely noticed that Scott had pulled him away from the wall at some point, trapped Stiles' arms between them; the hand at the back of his neck was keeping him from hitting his head against the concrete. He had a headache. "You're just you and we'll figure out the rest."

"Don't let me hurt anybody. Don't let- Don't let me..."

"I've got you. I've got you." Ignoring him maybe. Or just brushing over all the traitorous thoughts in Scott's head that told him he might not be able to fix Stiles this time. Scott would never believe that. He'd go down fighting for Stiles every time. It was what they did. "I've got you."

There was something damp in Stiles' hair where it was pressed to Scott's cheek. Stiles couldn't remember the last time Scott had cried like that.

Stiles shook harder. He couldn't breathe. There was copper in the back of his throat and he choked on it. His nose was bleeding again, soaking into the fabric on Scott' shoulder. It was so dark and he was so scared. He was tired and he didn't want to hurt anyone. He didn't want to hurt Scott.

Stiles just wanted it to end.

Scott held on tighter.


	10. Carry

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Summary: Stiles always puts everything into protecting the pack. They know it, they don't have to like it. Especially his father.

Or

The Nemeton and Void left Stiles with a way to help them all. But everything has a price. The Sheriff watches Stiles willingly pay that price again and again.

**10 (Carry)**

The Sheriff curses in his head, tongue stilled by the disorientation of waking to the feeling of wrong. Something in his head spins with _'wrong', 'hurry'_, as he rushes into his son's room. He still manages to make a sound like he's been punched in the gut when he sees Stiles, pale and bleeding on the floor, leaning back against his bed.

A vicious flash of anger strikes through the man that the pack isn't somehow magically here when Stiles is hurt. It disappears quickly though. They're not here because Stiles made sure they wouldn't be. They would have stopped the teen from doing this. They always try to.

Stiles weaves around them, slips between their grasping fingers and constant, truthful words; _they don't blame him, it wasn't his fault, he doesn't have to help like this, it's killing him, Stiles, stop, they can't lose him too. Please, Stopstopstop. _

He doesn't believe them. He tears himself apart trying to atone. They run themselves to the ground trying to save him.

"It's okay. It's okay." The Sheriff kneels, collapses, next to his son, hands hovering for too long, not knowing how to help, how not to hurt.

"'s not..." Stiles slurs a bit breathlessly. He struggles to tilt his head forward from where it's resting against his bed, but thunks back solidly, too heavy for him to hold up right now. "Not...what you think-"

But the Sheriff is already shushing him, mindless noises from a time when words were all it took to soothe his kid.

"I know. I know." He tells Stiles hurriedly, concentrating on keeping his voice calm. With too little effort, John pulls his son's lax fingers free of the towel he's pressing to his forearm. The man lifts the edge of it and curses when red wells immediately, spills over. He grabs one of Stiles' shirts from the floor nearby and presses that on top of the sodden towel, pushing down hard and wincing when Stiles doesn't. "That damn tree and that demon. I talked to Deaton and Scott. Found something in you and twisted it."

Deaton's grim face and Scott's wide, shiny eyes, like he couldn't take one more blow. One more loss. _'Everything has a price'. _The pack watched Stiles and John didn't tell his son he knew. He was their inside man, another line of defense that Stiles would, hopefully, be less able to avoid. Less able to get around without suspicion when they were trying to protect him from himself.

The Sheriff stuck close to Stiles when the pack couldn't. Closer when they were worried. Yet he'd still managed to pivot and sprint around them. Too damn smart. Too desperate.

"I know, Stiles. Don't move."

"Have to. Only way." The Sheriff shivers, not able to tell if Stiles has heard him at all. "If...if I see it, they don't get hurt."

He grabs Stiles' face, his son's own blood smearing his cheeks as John wipes his thumb under Stiles' bruised-black eyes.

"I know. It's okay. They're safe. I know about the visions, the warnings. Just-" he licks his lips, disguises the crack in his voice. "Stay awake for me, kid, okay? Stay with me."

"Sorry..." Stiles whispers tiredly. "Be okay. Sorry."

Stiles manages to focus his eyes on his father and it's the most awful, gut wrenching, pride-educing thing John has ever seen. Suffering this to protect his friends, family, pack. Feeling his mind give and break and keeping on anyway; slicing himself open to help them, to further the visions that were already taking every bit of strength Stiles had.

Stiles is so strong and it makes John feel so weak.

"Gonna get you patched up. I need you to talk to me, okay?" He using leading words, prompting answers purposefully. If Stiles thinks his father needs information from him, he's more likely to hold onto consciousness. "I'm gonna fix this, Stiles."

And he is. He's going to pull Stiles up, carry the teenager just as he had when Stiles had been a child; clean him up, maybe take a trip to Deaton's if the damage is too bad. He's going to fix it, every little bit that he still has the power to. Because he can heal Stiles' wounds, soothe the pain with pills and praise, but he knows there are other things, worse things he can't reach. He can't fix Stiles' mind, undo the damage that's been wrought, is continuing to accumulate.

The Sheriff puts his hand around the back of Stiles' neck, feeling the vertebrae far too clearly. He tilts the teen's face forward, making sure Stiles' eyes are focused on his father, that Stiles is there with him and not drifting off wherever these episodes tend to take him.

"I've got you. I'm going to fix this, son."

Sometimes he will. Sometimes it'll be Scott. Or Derek. Attempting to pull Stiles back together, to protect him while he protects them, falls apart piece by piece to try and stop them from having to.

Sometimes, they all might be too late.

It's a thought the Sheriff can't bear to dwell on.

For now, he can fix this.


	11. Blame

Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.

Warning for this part: overtures of self-destructive Stiles

Summary: Stiles is recovering poorly after the nogitsune, especially around Scott and Chris. The pack is coming together though, and Chris is watching.

**11 (Blame)**

Scott sprinted toward Stiles, sliding in front of him and roaring in fury as he faced down the hunters. Derek took up his place next to the alpha, growling low, ready to attack, to defend.

Scott itched to be able to reach back to Stiles, make sure the other was alright, but he couldn't move; the very literal role of wall between danger and his pack he was beginning to embrace. Lydia had Stiles, was trying to help him, keep him standing. _ 'He's hurt. He's bleeding, clutching his arm, he's in pain'_. And then, Scott realized as he caught Stiles in his peripheral vision, _'he's pissed'._

Stiles stared through the gap of Scott and Derek in front of him and straight at the humans and their wolfsbane weapons. They stood ready, but not attacking anymore. Outnumbered and hesitating. Two of the men were scuffed up, sporting patches of quickly blackening skin. Scott felt a surge of pride at the evidence of the fight Stiles put up.

"You're running with monsters." The man most in the foreground sneered, glaring at Stiles.

"I'm nowhere _near_ you", Stiles bit out viciously even as he blinked blood out of his eyes. Scott didn't think he'd ever heard his friend's voice carry that intense an undercurrent of rage. Maybe in those first confusing weeks after his dad left, which made so much sense now (Stiles knew about that night. Always had. Hated that man for the minutes Scott couldn't remember), but this was murderous.

Stiles was ready to kill for him. For any of his threatened pack. Scott squared himself more in front of Stiles just in case the injured teen decided to lunge for the humans.

The hunters were outgunned. An advance party. They couldn't win. Scott hoped they were bright enough to get that. If not...

Scott, alpha and all, could barely sense their own hunter (not the same one, not right, but still important) in the trees, the one on their side. There was no way the humans would be able to tell Chris was there at all, waiting to pick them off as soon as they made a more blatant move against the Code.

"...This isn't over." The same man says, clearly bypassing the wolves to glare at Stiles, just like Chris had said. This clan hated wolves, but they hated human pack, 'betrayers', more. Scott stepped in to block their view of Stiles completely, finding Derek meeting him halfway.

After tense seconds, the man backed away, weapon still raised as he and the two others retreated. Scott waited until they were completely gone from his senses before he turned to where Lydia was trying to get Stiles on his feet.

"I'm okay." Stiles told Scott before he could ask. Stiles absently licked the blood away from the split in his bottom lip, breath stilted from a bruised rib. _'No, you're not'_, Scott thought. He hadn't been for awhile.

Stiles had never liked admitting when he was actually hurt, especially lately. Still, when Scott went to take stock of his injuries, Stiles didn't pull back, let him gauge his wounds in his _'freaky wolf-y way'_. Scott frowned. The gash in his arm was wide. He was pale.

"You need a hospital."

"I'm good, man. Really."

"Stiles-"

"I'm alright, Scott. I can get patched up at home."

If his alpha voice worked on Stiles, Scott might have considered using it because his friend needed help. In the end it wasn't necessary though.

"Scott's right." The voice came from the base of the tree, approaching them. Scott heard Stiles' teeth clench. His body went still and he wouldn't look up anymore. "You're gonna need a few stitches from what I saw."

It had taken weeks and more than few reassurances from Scott before Stiles had been able to look him in the eye after-

After.

Chris Argent was another story. Stiles turned into someone else around the man. Someone timid and small and sad. It scared Scott. Scared them all.

The hunter didn't blame Stiles, but he knew why Stiles acted as he did around him. He stopped a few feet from the teen, trying not to startle him. Chris had said Stiles owed him nothing, that what happened wasn't him; just something wearing his face. But after a quick look at Scott, the man knew this was a situation he could use to their advantage. Stiles wasn't likely to refuse a request from the forever grieving father.

"You're going to the hospital." Scott ached to reach out and stop Stiles as he chewed on his already split lip, drawing more blood. Danger momentarily passed, the alpha's full attention was now on his injured friend.

Finally, Stiles made an approving motion, not raising his eyes.

Chris nodded and reached out toward Stiles in case he needed a bit of a push to get going. He didn't get far before a solid wall of werewolf blocked his way. Derek stood between them. Not angry, no longer wolfed-out, but perfectly conveying he had no intention of moving.

Chris didn't take offense. Derek, unbelievably, liked Chris, protected him like the rest of the pack when it was needed.

But Derek would kill for Stiles.

He'd kill Chris for Stiles.

Just like Scott.

Relenting, the hunter stepped back to let the others tend to the teen, usher him back toward the cars.

They were all still fumbling. Around words, the past, each other. But, more and more, Chris had noticed that they were beginning to stumble along together. They reached out for one another more now and fell all the less often for it.

It wasn't something he could be a part of. Not really. If he'd ever had that in him, he didn't any longer.

So he watched, fairly content with it all, as Scott looped Stiles' non-Lydia arm over his own shoulders. As Derek waited just a beat longer than the rest of them to turn and walk away, making certain that Chris was no threat to the teens, and returning a nod that the hunter gave to tell the wolf he'd be just fine on his own. His car was close.

Chris stayed in that field for a long time after the headlights had dimmed and they'd gone off to lick their wounds, prepare for the next fight they faced together.. Looking at the sky, more reflective than he usually allowed himself to be, he let himself think of the pack those kids were becoming. How a year ago, he would have never thought of a new pack forming as anything positive or right.

Closing his eyes, just for the space of a few breaths, he let himself think of the place his daughter would have held in that pacck and how beautifully she would have shined.


End file.
